‘Oh,’ she said listlessly. The computer screen threw a greenish cast on her face as she stared at the list of emails. ‘What did you say?’
‘That Leon didn’t commit suicide.’
‘Did you tell them that you thought he’d been murdered?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was that wise?’ she asked, turning to him, the green light playing on her profile.
‘We’re talking about the Prado, Gina. Not a bunch of gangsters.’
‘I don’t know what to think about anyone any more,’ she replied, her tone lost. ‘Did they ask you who killed Leon?’
‘No. I don’t think they believed me. After all, it was no secret that Leon had tried to commit suicide before.’
‘Was he … was he … dead when you found him?’ Gina asked, her voice breaking.
Ben closed his eyes for a moment before replying. ‘Yes, he was dead.’
‘I just wondered if he said anything … you know …’
‘He was dead when I got there,’ Ben repeated, touching the back of her hand briefly. ‘And no, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t leave a note either. No explanation. And if Leon had committed suicide, he would have left a note. He did before.’
Her head bowed, Gina dropped her voice even further.
‘Ben?’
‘Yes?’
‘Did Leon tell you about the baby?’
28
New York
‘You must keep it a secret. You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,’ Ellen Armstrong said, her voice lowered as she leaned across the table towards Bobbie Feldenchrist. ‘I would be in such trouble. But I’m telling you because you confided in me the other day and because it might be a way out of your … problem.’
Sipping a glass of Chablis, Bobbie raised her eyebrows. She was dressed in a cream Chanel suit with a brown silk blouse, her amber hair drawn back into a chignon. Immaculately distant, she observed the rotund woman in the seat next to hers. Bobbie knew only too well that Ellen needed her as a friend, just as she knew that Marty Armstrong was a brilliant man. His capacity for invention was impressive, but he had little business sense, and that was where Bobbie came in. On a number of occasions she had offered advice to Ellen, advice she knew would be passed on and acted on. Which it always was. In return, Bobbie had Ellen’s devotion. The only caring, maternal influence in her life. Because Ellen Armstrong was that rarity in New York – a kind woman who could keep her mouth shut.
‘What “problem”, Ellen?’
Her voice lowered. ‘About your adoption.’
‘It’s delayed.’
‘Oh, Bobbie,’ she said, pulling at the cuff of one of her sleeves. ‘We know that’s not true, honey. I heard it fell through.’
‘How did you hear that?’
‘Marty heard, and he told me.’
Taking another sip of Chablis, Bobbie stared across the restaurant, her face impassive. How Marty Armstrong knew so many intimate details, about so many important lives, was a mystery to everyone. But somehow he always knew the gossip, somehow he always sussed out a person’s secret or weakness. Luckily for Bobbie, the Armstrongs were on her side.
‘Ellen,’ she said quietly, ‘if you’ve something to say, say it. I hate mysteries.’
‘I know of someone who could get you a baby,’ Ellen replied. ‘Quickly. No questions asked. It would cost you, but that’s not a problem, is it? This man could be the answer to your prayers.’
‘Who is he?’
Ellen leaned back in her seat. ‘Are you interested?’
‘I might be,’ Bobbie admitted, a vein in her neck beginning to throb. ‘How quickly could he get me a child?’
‘Within days.’
Bobbie’s eyebrows rose. ‘Is it legal?’
‘Does that matter?’ Ellen countered, leaning back over the table. ‘You want a baby, Bobbie, and I don’t believe that postponement story of yours. No one does really. We all think you were let down.’ She paused, her tone sympathetic. ‘Everyone knows how difficult the adoption services are. All that paperwork, even for someone like you. And there’s a shortage of American babies. Children that would be more likely to go to a proper family. Or at least a couple.’ The words hit deep and Bobbie pushed her glass away from her.
‘I know all this.’
‘So let me help you to cut through all the red tape.’
‘I don’t want to get involved in anything illegal, Ellen. It wouldn’t do for the Feldenchrist name.’
‘How badly do you want a baby?’
‘You know how badly.’
‘Then take this help.’ Ellen smiled, hurrying on. ‘Oh, Bobbie, you have a score of lawyers on your side. If anything went wrong you could bury this man without breaking into a sweat. You’ve got a name that no one would go up against.’
Pausing, Bobbie allowed the waiter to lay down her meal in front of her. The steam rose up from the poached salmon, the scent of the fresh fish suddenly intoxicating. As she stared at the plate, every portion seemed brighter, the colours psychedelic, vegetables humming with vibrancy, white sauce ethereal, pale as a goose feather.
Excitement made her hand shake as she reached for her fork. ‘Does this man work on his own?’
‘Of course.’
‘Where does he come from?’
‘Africa.’
‘Oh … Would the baby be African?’
‘I believe so.’
Pausing, Bobbie was about to refuse the offer and then considered the idea further. A black child was not something she had imagined for herself, but then again, why not? How magnanimous would she appear adopting not some healthy WASP child but a baby from an impoverished country? Mentally Bobbie rewrote her previous scenario, tried it on to see if she could accommodate it, and decided that she could. An African child, a black baby – how radical, how modern, how like Madonna. How free-thinking of her.
‘You said this man could get me a baby within days?’
‘By the weekend.’
So the party could still go ahead, Bobbie thought, her spirits lifting. She would have her baby, just as she had said. And more than that, she would make a real statement about adoption. Stop her detractors short and prove herself again … No one denied Bobbie Feldenchrist what she wanted. Not some Puerto Rican slut or some by-the-book adoption society.
‘I would want the child to be healthy. And it would have to be a boy.’
‘I know that.’
‘Who is this African man? What do you know about him?’
‘Not much.’
‘You’re making me nervous now.’ Her tone hardened ‘Is he a criminal?’
‘I don’t know much about him. It was Marty who suggested him. Apparently he’s helped a couple of other women who wanted to adopt. I suppose Africa’s no different to here. Girls get in trouble and need a way out, so they give their babies up.’
‘They have a choice?’
‘Oh, Bobbie,’ Ellen said, chiding her gently. ‘You do worry about things so much. The girls get their lives back so they can move on – and they get paid well.’
‘I suppose this man takes a commission?’
‘It is a business, honey.’
‘So how do I do business with him?’
Ellen dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘He’ll call and see you about the money.’
‘Then what?’
‘He’ll have the baby brought to you. After that, you won’t ever have to see him again.’
Bobbie’s tongue ran over her dry bottom lip. She was suddenly nervous, terrified about her decision. But she wouldn’t go back on it. She wanted a child, and now she was going to get one.
‘Just one thing,’ Ellen said suddenly. ‘You can’t mention where or how you got the baby. Or tell anyone about this man.’
‘Is he …’ Bobbie paused, wanting to ask the question and at the same time not wanting to hear the answer. ‘… is he dangerous?’
‘You want a baby, don’t you?’ Ellen asked steadily. ‘Well, sometimes we have to go about things in ways we wouldn’t usually choose.’ She patted Bobbie’s hand maternally and changed the subject. ‘Now, eat up. A new mother needs all her strength.’